


One Last Shot

by Northern_Star



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Drunkenness, M/M, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-28
Updated: 2011-06-28
Packaged: 2017-10-21 05:28:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/221434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Northern_Star/pseuds/Northern_Star
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All that Nate wanted was five minutes of peace and quiet. Unfortunately, he wasn't the only one...</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Last Shot

**Author's Note:**

> Well, clearly I've lost my mind, writing Bruins fic... but it was WORTH IT.

Nathan throws back a shot of vodka, laughing heartily as he slams the glass back down on the table. He stops laughing almost immediately, hit by a sudden dizzy spell. He's pretty sure it's not the alcohol, because he _really_ hasn't had that much to drink, but rather the abrupt backwards head motion—he's just suffered a pretty bad concussion, and this is just the sort of thing he shouldn't be doing right now.

Of course, he shouldn't be getting smashed at a party, either, though again, he's not that drunk yet. If he'd been reasonable at all, he wouldn't have come here in the first place, he would be at home, taking it easy. He would have gone straight back home to _rest_ after the parade, if he'd been reasonable. And he was going to be, too, except then Looch insisted that he really, _really_ had to come, and then insisted some more, and Nate obviously caved; damned if he's ever known how to say no to him anyway. Besides...it's not like this is _just_ a party, or even just _any other_ party. This is a _huge fucking deal_ of a party! As huge as the world they're on top of right now, and as freaking amazing as the Stanley Cup they've just won. So, sure he might have told people he was going to go home and take it easy, but anyone who doesn't get how big a deal tonight is clearly needs their head examined a hell of a lot more than he does.

Shot glasses gets refilled but Nate feels a little too dizzy, so he excuses himself and walks away from the table. He cuts through the crowd, heading for the restroom where he hopes that a splash of water to the face might help him get over this.

It helps some, but the room still seems to spin around him, causing his stomach to lurch. He stumbles into one of the stalls, the biggest one at the end, next to the wall which he leans against heavily, taking deep, slow breaths. His stomach seems to settle, at least for the time being, but Nate doesn't quite feel very well at all, so he locks himself in the stall, and then lowers the toilet seat cover so he can sit on the cistern for a moment. It's nice and cool in here, as opposed to the other room where the party is going on full force; it's also quieter, and he figures that can only help make him feel like normal again.

He has his eyes closed, and he's trying that focussing exercise thing that helps him find his "center" in order to chase away the vertigo, when the outside door of the restroom slams open. Nate's eyes fly open in surprise. He hears laughter—sounds like Brad, and someone else, but he's not sure who—and then a loud bang against the metal wall of the stalls, followed by more laughter. Nate's heart almost leaps out of his chest when someone suddenly collides against the metallic partition to his right.

"Oh, fuck, about time," a guy says over the metal-on-metal clank of the stall door being shut. The words are slurred, but it's definitely Brad.

A second masculine voice, which Nate can't quite place, answers, "Seriously!"

What comes next isn't quite what Nate expected. He isn't convinced he hears what he thinks he hears at first, because it sounds like kissing, and he's not sure that's possible, honestly, except now there's _definite_ moaning coming from the other side of the wall, so it had to have been what he thought it had been. Nate doesn't think he heard a girl with them, but they have to have one with them, he guesses. Right?

"Fuck, man, get your damn pants off already," says the second guy, which Nate now recognizes as Tyler.

"I'm trying, I'm trying," Brad then replies. So, looks like there isn't a girl with them after all... Huh.

There's a sharp metallic clank on the partition between the stalls, probably from the buckle of Brad's belt. Nathan swallows hard, staring wide-eyed at the smooth coppery sheet of metal that keeps the guys on the other side from knowing that he's sitting _right here_.

If he thought there was any possible way he could climb off the toilet and make an exit without being noticed he would, oh, how he would, but his head is still spinning enough that there's no way he can be sufficiently coordinated to do this without making a sound. If they hear him leave, they're going to know he was there, and know that he _knows_ , because clearly he's heard, it would have been impossible not to. And that's the problem, really: he doesn't _want_ to be the guy who knows. He didn't want to know anything about this in the first place, really doesn't care when, if, or why Brad and Tyler are apparently fucking, and the last thing he wants is to share this secret with them! It's their secret; he never asked to be a part of it! He's got plenty of his own to worry about already. So yeah, he's trapped. Locked inside this stall, sitting on the cistern, trapped, while two of his teammates have sex on the other side of this thin metallic partition.

That damn shooter he downed before? It seemed like only a bad idea, just a few moments ago. But now? It's right up there in the top five of the worst decisions he's ever made in his life!

Nathan closes his eyes again and tries to put all of this out of his mind. Maybe if he concentrates hard enough on something else, he won't hear what's going on, and then he could really pretend that he doesn't know a thing about any of it. Except it's really hard to ignore the wet, suckling sounds and the moaning that's going on over there. It gets even harder to ignore when his cock twitches all of a sudden.

Nate's head drops against the tile wall behind him, eyes screwed tightly shut; he can't believe he's turned on by this! These are his teammates, his buddies, and listening to them have sex is _not_ supposed to be a turn on! Except it is, and the more they're going at it, the more arousing it becomes, and before Nate really realizes he's doing it at all, he's started stroking himself through his jeans.

Of course realizing he's doing it doesn't mean he can _stop_ doing it. What else is he supposed to do, trapped in here, while they're going at it less than a foot away? He's not made of stone, thank you very much, and there's all these sounds, and hell even the idea of getting caught in here is oddly arousing. No one knows that he's even in here at all, so what does it matter, really, if he keeps stroking himself?

What does it really matter if he unzips his pants, spits in his hand and starts masturbating to the sounds coming from the other stall, of Segs giving Marchy head? No one's going to find out; no one will ever know. And no one will ever find out either what exactly it is that he's really fantasizing about, eyes closed as he's jerking himself off. Those aren't images of his two rookie teammates he sees in his mind, oh no. Something else altogether, _someone_ else; someone taller and stronger, kneeling right there in front of him, licking and sucking _him_ off. Someone who'd never do any such thing, he's pretty sure, but that sure doesn't keep Nate from imagining it and lusting for it. Definitely not. Besides, where's the harm in that?

Half expecting to find someone standing right there looking at him, Nathan cracks an eye open and looks around. He reaches for the toilet paper, unrolls a few lengths and bunches it all up in his hand. Then, biting his lower lip to keep from making any sounds that would give him away, he resumes his five knuckle shuffle. That really hot fantasy he was having just before starts playing in his mind again. It doesn't take very long before he goes right over the edge, climaxing as he imagines what it would be like to be on the receiving end of a blowjob, and he bites down on his lip so hard it almost bleeds.

Meanwhile, things have quieted in the other stall. Save for some heavy breathing and a mumbled curse or three, there's not much coming from over there anymore. Nate guesses, correctly, that's they must be done, because a moment later he hears them coming out of the stall. Then there's water running, and some chuckling, and finally they walk out of the restroom, apparently never having known that Nathan was in here with them this entire time. It's just as well this way, obviously. Relieved to finally be able to leave this place as well, Nate throws out the wad of paper in his hand and exits the stall he's been involuntarily imprisoned in.

He's washing his hands at the sink, when the door opens again. Immediately his head snaps in that direction, afraid that it's Brad or Tyler coming back, and they're going to realize he's been here all along. Turns out it's Milan instead, which is a relief, but also pretty damn awkward, really, considering the things Nathan's mind had him doing just a couple minutes ago...

"I've been looking all over for you," Milan says, walking toward him. He stops abruptly, frowns and asks, "Are you all right? You don't look so good..."

"I'm fine."

"No, seriously," Milan insists. "You're really pale. You okay, man?"

"I'm fine, Looch, really!" But Milan gives him a dubious look so, sighing, Nathan admits, "Okay, so I wasn't doing real well before, but I took a time out and I'm better now."

"You're sure?"

"Would you stop it already?" Nate sighs, shaking his head. "I'm fine, I promise, all right?"

"If you say so..." The look of concern on Milan's face turns into one of amusement suddenly and he adds, "Hey, did you hear? Apparently Segs and Marchy were making out near the dance floor earlier."

Nathan's eyes go a little wide. "Oh, uh, really?" he replies nervously.

"Yeah, yeah," Milan laughs. "They disappeared after that, though. I guess someone told them if they were going to be all over one another like that, they shouldn't do it in public."

"Well, rookies, you know?" Nathan offers, and he forces himself to laugh, even though he's really worried that maybe someone _does_ know what he's just been a witness to. "We didn’t always know any better either."

"Well, no," Milan replies, still laughing, "But _we_ would have found a room with a door that locks!"

"W—we?" says Nathan, choking on the word, not to mention the entire _concept_.

Milan rolls a shoulder in a small shrug, looking uncharacteristically embarrassed. But as he's about to answer, the restroom door opens and someone walks in.

"Oh, hey guys," says Savvy with a small wave of the hand, as he heads for the urinals.

Nathan nods. "Hey Savvy. Great party, huh?"

"Oh yeah!"

"We were just heading back," Milan replies hurriedly, pulling Nathan along as he heads for the exit.

They're halfway back to the table where they were having shooters before, when Nathan turns to Milan and says, "You know, on second thought, I think I've have about all the alcohol I can handle for tonight. I should probably head up to my room."

"Oh, uh, all right then," says Milan, shoving his hands in his pockets in a very poor display of aloofness.

Mustering all the courage he can find, Nathan leans in a little closer, insuring no one can overhear, and tells him, "You know, the door to my room has a lock..."

The smile he's rewarded with just then is all that Nathan needs, to know that the shooter from before, the one that he thought was his worst mistake, might actually be the best idea he's ever had.

 

—END.


End file.
